I remember it clearly: my first freelance gig, back in 2005. On the way there, I’d see Freelancers Union posters in the subway, and it felt like a lowkey way of seeing my future home — that’s exactly what I’m joining, once I get started on my career. I’d look around the train and wonder how many other passengers were also freelancers, building their lives quietly in parallel.

That day’s work was low wage street intercept — stopping people, showing them big studio movie trailers, and asking how likely they were to watch the film. It wasn’t the foot in the door I imagined for filmmaking, but like most freelancing, it built real skills: how to talk to strangers, how to translate creative ideas into language people can actually hear, and how to listen for what’s underneath their answers.

For more stable work, I took a “temporary” job as a writer and aide of a local city councilman. And that role taught me something harder - the difference between having a voice and having a say.

I didn’t have much of a say back then, and I knew too many people who didn’t either. Not because we were voiceless (there’s no such thing), but because we were strategically ignored — hierarchically hushed — kept outside the rooms where decisions were made. Whatever you call it, I didn’t like it. I couldn’t unsee it.

So I put some of my creative dreams on hold and went into public service. I was elected to the State Assembly and later to the City Council at 28, and the contrast was immediate. In government, you see what stability looks like up close: prestige, protections, flexible schedules, and influence that comes standard with the job. I watched colleagues get comfortable inside those luxuries. I fought to stay grounded in why I joined in the first place.

Representing East New York — one of the most underfunded communities in the city — taught me about power: who has it, who keeps it, who loses it, and why. It also taught me something stronger than power: advocacy, which can bend power toward the will of the people.

That belief shaped everything I did. I created the nation’s first Office of Nightlife because the city needed to stop treating nighttime workers like they were disposable or invisible. Bartenders, musicians, dancers, service workers — people dismissed by the 9-to-5 crowd as “creatures of the shadows” — were building a real economy, and they deserved real support.

Then in 2015, more than a decade after I first saw those posters, Freelancers Union came to my office and we got to work. Together, we passed the nation’s first Freelance Isn’t Free law, grounded in something basic: if you do the work, you deserve to get paid - without having to plead for your own paycheck.

After a decade of public service, I came home to Freelancers Union.

I started on March 2, 2020. Days later, New York became the global epicenter of COVID-19, and freelancers were hit immediately. Work vanished, anxiety spiked, and people needed support faster than systems were built to deliver it. We pushed hard for federal relief that included independent workers — especially Pandemic Unemployment Assistance (PUA) and PPP forgivable loans — and we built direct support through emergency cash grants and expanded free legal help, while continuing the long fight for portable benefits.

As the city reopened, we rebuilt community and infrastructure, not just services. We reestablished the Freelancers Hub in a post-pandemic world because independent work shouldn’t mean isolation. We launched the Photo Hub with our partners at ASMPNY because working creatives deserve access to professional tools without added costs and gatekeeping.

We’ve helped grow the Freelance Isn’t Free movement nationally with statewide wins in New York, California, and Illinois, and progress in cities like Seattle, Columbus, and Minneapolis. And most recently, launched the Freelancers Legal Hub, which has helped members collect over $250,000 in unpaid invoices in the past year alone. 

This job has also been deeply personal.

I’ve been moved by our gatherings — people of every background and belief showing up with the same hope: to build a life through what they can do. I’ve watched members find mentors, collaborators, and confidence here. I’ve seen people stand taller simply because they were finally in a room where they didn’t have to explain why their work is real.

Over these past six years, my role hasn’t just been to lobby or advocate. A big part of the job has been carrying you into rooms you weren’t in — making sure decision makers saw the full truth of freelance work and the value you create. This fight for dignity didn’t just build policy; it built community. And personally, it inspired me and reminded me who I am: last year I dusted off my filmmaking dreams and shot a movie.

To our members: thank you for trusting us, challenging us, and showing up when it counted. To our board: thank you for trusting my vision, especially when the path wasn’t obvious. To my team: thank you for punching above your weight, again and again, and keeping the work grounded in what members actually need. You carried this organization through its hardest period with discipline and heart.

Now I’m resigning to serve as the NYC Commissioner of Media and Entertainment in the Zohran Mamdani administration. I say “new role,” not “new mission,” because I’ll still be fighting for the same kinds of people: the independent workers and creatives who make New York feel alive and keep its culture moving.

I’m leaving Freelancers Union with gratitude and confidence. We are no longer strategically ignored because our unified voice is hard to miss. We laid a strong foundation, and I believe the union’s next era will be even stronger.

Thank you for letting me serve. 

With gratitude,
Rafael Espinal